Swimming Through The Void
by Solus Nemo
Summary: Final chapters up Issues and lies brought him to Degrassi, rage and angst flowed through his veins, and only the truth would mend his torn soul and broken wings. [slash. MM]
1. Home

**Title:** Swimming Through The Void (restoration)  
**Author:** "Solus Nemo"  
**Summary:** No one understood him, no one ever has. Issues and lies brought him to Degrassi, rage and angst flowed through his veins, and only the truth would mend his torn soul and broken wings. He's not what everyone thinks he is.  
**Rating:** PG-13 (language, adult content, slash themes and references, derogatory terms)  
**Author's Note:** In this story Degrassi Community High School is back up and running. Emma and her friends are in grade 10, Paige and her friends are in grade 11. This takes place way before Marco even came out to Spinner, come to think of it this story doesn't really have a place in the Degrassi time-line.

This is a restoration! Slowly but surely each chapter will be fixed up and improved. **  
Disclaimer: **I do not own any band/television show/piece of literature that is mentioned in this story. This story is 100 false, maybe that's why it's called fiction. Also, I do not own any song that has a blip and/or chapter title in this story. I do own, however, any foreign characters.

**Chapter One: Home** (restored: July 20th, 2004)

If moving to another country wasn't culture shock enough, I just had to move to Canada. Ontario to be exact. I spent my whole life in Australia, I grew up in Sydney, and now I have to come here…How could something like this possibly be good for me? Whatever. I'm sure I'll be moving again in a few weeks. My own parents couldn't handle me, what makes these people think they can pour me into another mold? They're going to get a kick out of this: sending me to therapy and drowning me with everything I could possibly want.

I look over myself in the airport bathroom. My somewhat short, black hair is all over the place; the blue streak in it not where it should be. My pink eye shadow is worn and needs touching up, the spike through my chin could be a little shinier, my auburn eyes are the only offsetting thing against my pale face, and I notice that I need to shave. I recently upped the gages in my ears, causing the lobes to be red and buzzing with pain. A great way to make a fantastic first impression: look like one just escaped from a gay S&M club where snorting coke is an hourly thing.

My clothes are better off than my face at least. The black Dickies I'm wearing hang loosely and make my 6' 3" frame seem a few inches shorter (but the boots on my feet raise my height by two more inches, so that cancels that out), an old school black Anthrax tee-shirt covers all but the sleeves of a black fishnet shirt, a spiked watch is the only thing adorning my wrists, and two Death's head skull rings clad each of my middle fingers.

Deciding to look nice I dig a comb, eye shadow compact, and razor from one of my three bags. I run the comb through my hair, careful to place the chunk of blue closer to my left eye. Making a soap and water mixture, I quickly shave, wash my face, and redo my eye shadow. If you can picture that Hayden Christensen kid in the beginning of _Life As a House_…that would pretty much be me right about now.

I put everything back in its place and run out into the airport. I look around as I walk, seeing many people race around and very few with pieces of cardboard with names written on them. After ten minutes of searching, I finally see a 'Cyril Arrington' sign being held in the air. I walk over to the woman and set down my bags.

"I'm Cyril."

The middle aged, folksy, gray haired lady smiles at me. "Hello, Cyril. Did you have a nice flight?"

"Thirteen hours on a plane, high in the air, sitting in front of a screaming two-year-old…It was very nice," I reply sarcastically.

The woman laughs and extends her hand. "I'm Dana Karly. You may call me what you wish."

"Hey." I shake Dana's hand.

"We have a long drive ahead of us, we should get going. Let me help you with your bags," she states, picking up two of my bags and smiling at me. "I know that you're going to love it here. It's not Australia, but I imagine it's just as good."

I pick up the remaining bag and follow Dana as she begins to walk to the front of the airport. "The jet lag and reversed seasons are going to be the end of me," I huff.

Dana laughs. "You'll get used to it quickly. Look on the bright side: white Christmases."

"You have a point. I've only seen a white Christmas on the television."

We talk as we head through the clogged hallways. She really doesn't seem that bad, but I could be wrong. I've been in enough foster homes to know that a lot of people put on an act. One family sent me back the second I told them what my sexual orientation was. I've learned to tell people who am I right away, usually if they ask. Shocking people can be fun, but I hate to go overboard and cause a car crash or something…those aren't fun.

"You have an interesting look there, Cyril," Dana points out as we drive down the highway in the pouring rain.

"You don't like it."

Dana passes a Pinto, making me chuckle. The guy's driving it around like it's a classic, I guess he didn't get the memo that if he's hit from behind…blamo. "No, I like it. Not too many boys express themselves like that."

"It's like a trend now. Very sickening if you ask me," I reply.

* * *

I walk into a bedroom: tan walls and a weird, cozy vibe. "…And this is your room," Dana boasts. "You can change it around any way you like, I'm not too informed about what today's teenagers find hip."

It's a big room for an even bigger house; one of those houses that's too big to be a castle, but too small to be a mansion. The bedroom is mainly tan and forest green. Sooner or later I'll be able to fix it up and make it more…me. "It's nice." I have to compliment her, she's gone out of her way.

Dana smiles. "I'll let you get settled. You're starting at your new school on Monday: Degrassi Community High School. Dinner is at seven every night, which gives you two hours, and—we'll talk about this later."

She leaves and I look around. "_So this is my new home…I wonder how long this one will last?"_


	2. Ready Or Not At All

**Chapter Two: Ready Or Not At All **(restored: July 22nd, 2004)

My locker doesn't want to open. What a great start for a perfect Monday morning. Why do I have to get the jammed locker? I could always carry my shit around in my backpack, but that's a lot of stuff to carry around.

"Stupid thing. Open!" I yell, though I know my locker is inanimate and won't do anything.

"Locker troubles?" a male's voice asks. I turn my head to the right and see a boy; dark skin, black hair, dark eyes and gorgeous.

"Huh?" I ask stupidly.

The boy smiles and elaborates. "Your locker. Are you having trouble opening it?"

"Oh. Right. I am," I admit.

He smiles again and gently pushes me aside. "I have a locker like this." He kicks the bottom of it and tugs on the door, opening it easily. "There you go."

"Thanks."

"I'm Marco. Marco Del Rossi." He extends his hand, something people seem to do a lot of here.

Extending my own hand, we shake. "Cyril Arrington. I'm new here."

"I figured. I've never seen you around here before." Marco slips his hand out of mine. "I'll see you around." He smiles that smile again and walks off.

I empty most of my backpack into the locker, except a few notebooks and school supplies, and shut my locker. I put the combination lock back into place, close it, and start to walk down the hall to my homeroom. The bell rings just as I step inside and the teacher turns to look at me, along with the other students. It's like one of those nightmares; either you step into the wrong classroom, or you step into the wrong classroom naked.

"You must be See-rl Arrington," the woman tries to pronounce. She sounds like she's talking to a slow child, that or she's having a brain hemorrhage or something.

"It's Cyril," I correct her.

She motions for me to come farther inside the English room. "Come on in and introduce yourself."

"_I thought I already did."_

If she insists…. I walk to her and look at the class. Almost every eye is staring at me. "I'm Cyril Arrington and I moved here from Australia a week ago." I leave it at that.

"I think there's an open seat behind Paige Michalchuk," the teacher points out. I stand there, not knowing who this Paige person is.

A blonde girl waves. "Over here, hon." She smiles at me and flips her hair. Walking over to her, I slide into the desk behind her. She turns around. "Hey, cutie."

"_Oh, please…"_

"Hey."

* * *

Something about high school amazes me, I think it's the fact that students here don't realize that they're being herded around without many of their civil liberties. But hey, I was in a county home for five years, this is paradise. I've always hated cafeterias though, there are rules for absolutely everything.

"Hey…Cyril, right?" I hear Marco ask from behind me, and I turn around.

"Yeah. That's right."

He smiles, making me wonder if he ever doesn't. "Hey again." He moves his eyes to three other guys next to him. "This is Spinner Mason, Sean Cameron, and Jimmy Brooks." He points to each of his friends, though none of them as good looking as Marco. They each greet me without a whole lot of enthusiasm.

"Hi," I say back to them. I pay the cashier the overpriced amount for my food and step out into the vast space that is the cafeteria.

"Would you like to sit with us?" Marco asks, realizing that I have nowhere to go.

I casually raise and lower one shoulder. "I've got nowhere else to sit, why not?" I reply.

If betting my life, I would have sworn that Marco smiled again. "All right—good."

I wait for the others to get their food and then they lead me to a table in the back of the cafeteria. There's already a 'goth' girl and a 'punk' girl at the table, and they politely wave at me. If all people in Canada are this polite I'm going to throw up.

"And who's this?" The 'punk' girl asks.

"I'm Cyril. Just moved here a week ago."

"Well, I'm Ashley Kerwin and this is Ellie Nash," the 'goth' acknowledges her and her friend.

Sitting down, I open a milk carton and take a swig, not up to talking.

Spinner looks at me. "I hear you're from Aussie," he states, overly excited.

I nod. "_Really. If you're going to call the country 'Aussie,' bugger off."_

"Do you see a lot of kangaroos and stuff like that?" Jimmy asks, equally enthusiastic.

"I lived in Sydney. You don't see too many 'roos in the city," I explain. "I did spend a few days in the outback once, though. I prefer wombats."

Unfortunately after that, I keep getting asked questions about Australia and other things. I'm surprised that no one mentioned the fact that I wear eye shadow, normally it's the first thing that comes out of anyone's mouth. I barely eat my lunch, that's how much I have to talk, and when the bell rings I'm more starving than I was when I first got into the cafeteria.

"_I may like it here…if these people stop being wankers, that is."_

Maybe if I'm here long enough that'll happen, but I'm guessing when I tell them who I am it might not blow over so well. Like I really care, I've been through stuff like that before.

* * *

Sitting down in an open desk, I look at the chalkboard and stare at the hundreds of equations written on it. I've never been good at math, but this is just ridicules. I sigh and slink down in my seat. I notice that Marco is sitting in front of me, we seem to have hit it off, I could always ask him for help…I'm going to need it.

He turns around, making my eyes grow wide for a second or two. "It's like you're stalking me," he jokes.

"Or the other way around," I state with raised eyebrows.

Marco laughs and looks at me, a smile on his face. I swear, if he does that one more time I'll rip that smile right off his face and lock it in a box. "How's your day been so far?"

"All right, but I think this class will be the death of me."

"Why's that?"

"I'm not the strongest noose in the barn when it comes to math…." I trail off.

Marco nods and chuckles. "I'm not that hot either, but I somehow get good grades. I can help you if you'd like," he volunteers, actually sincere.

I smile, something I haven't done and meant in a long time. "I'd like that, thanks."


	3. Not Like Before

**Chapter Three: Not Like Before** (restored: August 14th, 2004)

I walk down the stairs and try to remember where the dining room is. I know it's off the kitchen. So I just have to find the kitchen now.

Dana should really hand out maps, that way no one'll get lost in this place and be found nine years later, dead and nothing but a skeleton. Actually might not be a bad way to go. How many losers get lost in a huge house and starve to death?

When I finally do find the dining room Dana is sitting down and letting the mounds of food get cold.

"I was getting worried about you," she says.

"I got lost," I admit, shuffling over to the table and sitting down. I look at the food, piping hot and steaming. "This all looks very good."

Dana smiles. "You got lost again?"

I nod. "It's a huge house. I took a left at the formal living room the other night. Tonight I took a right at the stairs and then a left, not a left and then another left," I explain. "You have to make too many lefts in the place," I add with a chuckle.

We begin to load our plates with food, myself more than her. I still haven't gotten used to the fact that I don't have to share my breakfasts, lunches, and dinners with twenty other kids. I haven't been able to entirely break the habit of shoving as much food on my plate as possible with the speed of a rabbit running away from a loud noise.

The first night here, Dana stared at me while I ate like a horse. I guess, with all the money she has she's never seen anyone act like a wild animal. You have to do that at the homes, with all the other runts there you have to act fast. Orphanages aren't as bad as they were years ago, but the main instincts still remain; passed on through the mattresses along with the old sent of sweat that won't go away no matter how many times you clean them.

"How was your first day?" Dana asks. "It must've been hard, seeing as how you transferred in the middle of the year."

"It wasn't that bad, actually," I say after swallowing a swig of water. "I met a lot of nice people. One boy, Marco, volunteered to help me with math." I sound much like a giddy child.

Dana chuckles. "That's good to hear. I bet you were beating the girls off with a stick, eh?"

_"__Day seven, not bad. I might as well tell her now, see what kind of reaction I get."_

"I have to tell you something. The orphanage rarely tells you these things even if they're suppose to."

"Tell me what?" Dana asks, concerned.

"It's nothing bad, but you're going to have to know sooner or later. I'm homosexual."

_"__Now to wait for the screaming to start."_

Surprisingly Dana smiles. She looks completely comfortable. Maybe she didn't hear me. "I'm sorry. Did you see any interesting boys?"

Nope, she heard me.

I blink.

_"__What the Hell?"_

"I…uh…yeah. Marco Del Rossi, the guy I mentioned earlier. He's really attractive."

"You seem surprised," Dana points out the obvious. "My eldest daughter is lesbian. I'm used to these kind of things."

"Is everyone here like you are?"

"If only…." Dana sighs, starting to eat again.

* * *

For some reason I've made friends here quickly. Maybe it's a gay thing, I don't know. I'm going to lose most, if not all, of them once they start to question me and I tell them more about myself.

The lunch table's packed due to the half day, all of us waiting for the school day to end and our long weekend to begin.

I've been here five or so weeks now and it's not as bad as I thought it would be. I still haven't gotten completely used to it here, but I'm getting there. Marco and I are pretty close now, but I keep getting odd and confusing vibes from him which I'm not about to try and strip down.

"So," Hazel looks at me. "How is it that a cutie like you doesn't have a girlfriend yet?" she asks me eagerly.

I'm pretty sure that every head at the table turns to stare at me, making me look down at my chili.

_"__How should I tell them?"_

"Maybe because I'm not into girls."

It seems to get ten times easier ever time I come out, though I need a better way of doing it. I have to stop being so passively aggressive and blunt. I wonder if it's even possible to be passively aggressive? Most likely not, but those are my thoughts for you.

The table becomes dead silent and I raise my eyes. Confusion and shock hang in a mist over us, it's almost palpable.

When no one says anything for thirty seconds, I grip my tray and stand up, the chair screeching behind me.

"Right. I'll be going now."

I walk over to the trash can and empty my tray, place the slab of plastic into the holder, and walk out of the cafeteria. Deciding to hang around by my locker I walk down the baron hallways and sit on the floor, letting my head rest against the door of my locker.

That could've played out a little better. I never got complete and utter silence before…. First time for everything, I guess. Maybe if I close my eyes I can go into a fantasy world or something, chase a purple elephant in the land of fancy.

"Cyril?" Ellie tries to get my attention, she must have followed me.

_"__Oh well. I've been in that imagined world before."_

I open my eyes and see Ellie standing over me. "Ellie," I reply nonchalantly.

"You left us in a shock back there." She sits down next to me.

"People need to know sooner or later. Did I scare anyone off?" I ask eagerly, tying to lighten the mood a little.

Ellie shrugs. "All but two of us maybe."

"'Two of us?'"

She nods. "Marco and I. Something like that would never scare us off." Her eyes grow wide, as if she said something that she shouldn't have.

"How do you mean?"

"N—nothing. Class starts soon. We should get going." Ellie rises to her feet and walks off. There's still a good fifteen minutes before classes start.


	4. Schism

**Chapter Four: Schism** (restored: April 22, 2005)

I look around the classroom.

Marco and I are the only people in the back.

There's a huge homework assignment due and the teacher let us pair up. Marco was nice enough to help me again, that and save me from making myself look like a friendless ass.

"Train 'A' leaves North Battleford at 1:00pm. Going 128 kilometers per hour, it arrives at the Moose Jaw station at—" Marco reads a question out of the Algebra book, only to be interrupted by me.

"We did this one already."

"No, we didn't."

I lean across the table and read the jumble of letters sideways. "Yes, we did. You're in the wrong section. The answer's 80 kilometers per hour."

Marco stays silent as he looks over the page. He groans. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Honest mistake," I say and lean back into my chair, picking up a pencil and twirling it in my right hand like a drummer does with his sticks. Hey, a guy can dream. I soon stop when I notice Marco is staring at me.

I start to panic.

Maybe he wants to know why I've been stealing glances all day, but I think he may already know that I like him…. I told everyone I was gay after all.

Over the course of the weeks I've been here I've memorized Marco's face. I can tell if there's a crease that normally isn't there or if a hair is out of place…. Right now there's a hundred things wrong with his expression.

"How do you do it?" he asks weakly.

"Easily…if I knew what I was doing."

Marco lowers his voice slightly so he'll barely be heard over the hum of other students. "You're so comfortable with your sexuality. You didn't even seem to care that you nearly gave everyone at the lunch table a heart attack."

"I've done this many times before, it's nothing new to me."

"I wish I was as comfortable as you," Marco says below his breath, quickly looking back into his book. As if he never said his last sentence, he reads another math problem we've already done, but I go easy on him because of the huge weight on his shoulders.

I sigh. I want to slap Marco across the face for acting like this. I want to tell him self-loathing isn't attractive. I want to lean across the table and wrap my arms around him. I want to take him. I want to do all the things I shouldn't do.

"Vinny can't go to the concert if he stays another hour at the birthday party unless he doesn't go to soccer practice or to the record store. That'll leave him with an extra two hours to kill. But if it's a crappy band he wants to go see, something like the Strokes, then I hope he tries to off himself with the string to the pointy party hat."

* * *

Marco kicks a rock over the curb as we wait for Dana to pick us up.

With Marco's parents being gone for the weekend they want him to crash at a friend's house for the time being. For some strange reason, he thought he'd be more comfortable with me…. I'm giddy, don't get me wrong, but he's really been acting oddly lately.

"You sure you don't want to stay over at Ellie's? It's not too late. Once we get your stuff Dana can drop you off at her house."

Marco shakes his head. "Her parents wouldn't be too happy if I stayed over, we are going out after all."

"I was just making sure…. You all right?" I notice that Marco's eyes are fixated on the ground.

"Something's on my mind. I'm fine." He looks up and smiles at me lopsidedly.

Frowning I cast my gaze down the road, then back to Marco. "You're really starting to scare me, man."

"It's just…," Marco starts and pauses, most likely to think about what he wants to say. "It's just that I'm with Ellie, but I really like someone else…someone who I don't stand a chance with, y'know?"

My heart is ripped out of my chest by an invisible being. It's thrown onto the road in front of a bike rider. Run over. Blood and smashed heart puss everywhere.

There's a silence before Marco starts talking again. "We're opposites—" another long pause, like there's an Intelligence Agency out to get Marco and he has to word his sentences correctly or someone'll pop out of a sewer grate and cut off his head "—She really stands out and doesn't care what anyone thinks."

Oh look, a hawk's picking my heart up now, most likely to feed it to its little hawklets; talons ripping into the structure and more blood pouring to the ground.

Marco continues talking despite my inner attempts at shutting him up. "Gorgeous, amazing brownish eyes, tall, funny, and a great friend."

The hawk loses grip and my heart's hurled into a power line. Blamo. Sparks flying everywhere and the smell of burning heart wafting through the air. Who wants barbecue Cyril heart? I wouldn't recommend eating it, though, not unless you have a death wish.

I blink, coming back into reality as a car horn sounds.

Dana's red convertible is sitting right on the street in front of me. She smiles broadly from her station in the driver's seat.

"Sorry I'm so late, but you wouldn't believe the gridlock on the highway." She waves a hand, motioning for us to get in the car. "Hop in."

Being closer to the car I open the passenger side door. I move the seat back and look at Marco.

"After you," I try not to sob. Why did I ever think that I would have a chance with him? I'm so stupid.

"Thanks." Marco walks over and climbs into the back seat, having to move over a pile of crud to make room for himself.

I replace the seat and get into the car, slamming the door shut and already beginning to dread this weekend.

"Seat belts!" Dana calls, pulling out into the street and starting to drive us to Marco's house a few blocks away.

I sigh into the wind blowing at my face, not caring that my hair is getting messed up or that if we run into another car I'll go flying through the windshield because I didn't put my seat belt on. The only thing that's keeping my mind off my heart-broken state is the nagging voice in the back of my mind.

In the rush of getting ready for school before missing the bus I don't think I took my medication.


	5. Cameltosis

**Chapter Five: Cameltosis** (restored: April 22, 2005)

Marco sets a large duffel bag on the white comforter on guest bed.

I lean against the doorway, nowhere near up to having a long conversation with him, but I have to say something. "You have your own bathroom, too. My bedroom's the next door over."

Marco nods and unzips the bag holding his change of clothes and other sleep-over supplies. "I'll be down for dinner. I'm just going to unpack."

"All right."

I leave and walk into my room. Grabbing my medication holder from my bathroom I make my way downstairs and into the kitchen. I start to rummage through the cabinets for something to eat.

Dana looks up from chopping vegetables. "Marco getting settled?"

I nod and continue my search. "Don't we have any healthy food stuffs that aren't stale? Like milk and cereal bars or an apple or something?"

"Forget to take your medicine?" Dana asks sternly.

I nod again. "I was in a hurry this morning. Wouldn't have been able to eat anything with it, anyway, and I'm not recommended to do that."

"If you can wait twenty minutes you can take them with dinner," she replies after checking the stove clock.

"I'd rather not, thank you."

Dana looks at me. "You know what can happen if you miss—"

"I don't think missing one dose will do much." I stop my hunting to tell her this.

"Cyril, your medication slows the effect of the virus, if you don't follow your regimen—"

"I just don't want to take it with Marco around, okay?" I pull open the refrigerator and take out a bowl of Mediterranean salad. At least it's something. "What's for dinner?"

"Grilled chicken, steamed veggies, and wild rice," Dana answers, setting the chopped vegetables into a steamer.

I grab a fork and eat several stabs of the salad, put the bowl back into the fridge. I open the Friday tab of my medication holder and take my many pills for the day. I stuff the container in my pants pocket: another plus on the baggy pants wearing tally.

"You know, you're going to have to tell these people sooner or later. There are so many ways you can spread this around."

I sigh. "I'm really careful, you know that. It's not like I'm going to walk up to people and bleed into their open wounds. Besides, I don't want everyone to become paranoid and treat me like a leper."

"That joke was not funny." Dana sets an egg timer and looks me over. "I'm going to move your doctors appointment up, you don't look so good. I'm not happy with your last T-Cell count at all. Maybe we can talk about an easier way of taking your drugs." She does that when she's concerned, ramble without actually rambling while talking fast.

"I feel fine. I'm just upset."

"About what?"

Marco walks into the kitchen before I willingly answer her.

She smiles at her guest. "Dinner will be in fifteen minutes. Would you like to help Cyril set the table?"

* * *

There's a knock on my bedroom door and I groan.

Rolling over I look at the burning red numbers on my night stand clock. 2:15am

I rub my face with my hands and sit up. I look around the near black room and stare at the door, pixelated from my tired state.

"It's unlocked," I say hoarsely.

I watch as the door is slowly opened and a dark figure walks inside the room, shutting the door behind it.

In an instant the room is filled with bright light. I cover my eyes. "It's too bright!" I whine groggily.

"Sorry." I hear Marco apologize and walk back over to the wall where the light switch is.

"It's too late to turn the lights off now," I huff and remove my hands from my eyes. "What are you doing here? You're suppose to be asleep like the rest of the country." I blink as my eyes adjust to the light.

Marco walks over to the bed and sits down. I think I see him quickly shift his eyes from me, but it could be the fact that I feel blind. "I couldn't sleep."

I try to resist the urge of curling back under the covers, push the fabric to my waist instead. I start to get cold, clad only in my Australian flag boxers, but try not to think about that. "Couldn't sleep?" I sound like a parrot.

Marco nods. "I keep hearing these weird noises."

"It's probably just the pipes or the tree outside your window."

"Oh…."

"You woke me up just to tell me that?" I ask irritatedly.

"No. I—I didn't."

_"It's wrong to punch a guest in your home, it's wrong to punch a guest in your home."_

Marco raises his eyes to mine. "Remember this afternoon when I was talking to you?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"I have to come clean with you. It's not a girl I like…. it's you. I was describing you…. I didn't know how to tell you."

Not the best thing to tell to a sleep deprived, non-morning person. "Huh?" Oh great, the stupid act again. Grunting is even better than not being able to form actual words.

"I like you."

I say nothing while I try to say what I want to say. "Does Ellie know?"

Marco nods. "She's known for a long time now."

I'm confused. I give Marco an odd look.

"We're not really together. I'm…I'm gay."

Again, not the best thing to tell to a sleep deprived, non-morning person…especially me. We both remain silent after that. I'm to process what he was saying and I think Marco's trying to erase this night from time.

* * *

I wake up the next morning and Marco's gone, he must have left sometime in the night…I wouldn't know, I was too tired to really stay awake for very long.

This reminds me of a soap opera; he's gay but doesn't want anyone to know so he's 'dating' his best friend, then he likes the new guy and decides to come out to his crush in the middle of the night, probably knowing full well that neither of us will remember in the morning.

After getting dressed I trudge to the kitchen and steal a waffle to eat with my meds before Marco comes downstairs for breakfast.


	6. Overrated

**Chapter Six: Overrated** (restored: April 22, 2005)

**swizzbeatz:** I get that a lot, thanks. I have no experience with something like this. Maybe in past lives I've gone through these things, that or I just have a talent for writing things like this. I'll go for the past lives scenario. No, this isn't a true story, though I'm sure something like this has had to have happened in real life somewhere.

**everyone else:** Thank you so very much for reviewing! It means a lot to me.

* * *

Sometimes I wish that I was short.

Maybe if I was short I'd be able to swing my legs a lot better when I'm sitting on the examination table. Being tall has its advantages, though: when I swing my legs, my shoes graze the carpeting, making it easy to get a shock when touching the door knobs. Then again, it gets old very fast.

Doctor Stephens finally walks into the room, reading my chart, and shutting the heavy door behind her.

Why is it that guys get female doctors? But I'm sure the straight boys don't complain.

She looks up from the chart and smiles at me. "Hello, Cyril."

"Hey."

Walking up to me, Doctor Stephens sits in a swivel stool in front of me. "How've you been feeling since the last time I saw you?"

"Pretty good."

"Did you have any more spells?" she asks.

"A few days ago, yeah." I know what she'll ask next so I keep right on going. "It was about a five. My knees buckled and I got a bad head rush. I didn't collapse like the last time, though."

Writing things down on my chart, Doctor Stephens begins to ask me more questions. "What about your fatigue? Is that getting better or worse?"

"It's about the same, but it gets worse every now and then. I haven't fallen asleep in class again, so I think that's a good sign."

Doctor Stephens chuckles softly. "Maybe it is. I trust you've been staying healthy?"

"I'm trying my best. I'm like a paranoid freak about a lot of things now."

"That's good. We don't want you getting sick."

We continue on with the question and answer segment of the check up, then we get on to the exam, followed up by the blood test.

"You know the drill."

I roll up my sleeve and lift up my right arm. "I hate this part."

"I know you do, but it'll be over soon."

Doctor Stephens sticks the needle carefully in my arm, like so many times before, and extracts my blood. She takes the needle out, replacing a square piece of gauze where the needle entered my arm. I bend my arm so my forearm almost kisses my upper.

"Hopefully your T-cells haven't dropped again."

"I don't think they can," I joke.

"We'll get working on the blood work right away. Wish for the best."

I wait for what seems like hours, far past the point of memorizing every poster and detail of the office. I'm just about to fall asleep when the door opens.

"Finally!" I exclaim. "I was nearly dead of boredom. You should really learn to quicken up."

Doctor Stephens doesn't seem to hear me, she keeps staring at the clipboard in her hands like it's going out of style. "I've got some bad news and some good news."

"What?" This happens every time. I guess, I always hope that I'll somehow get better.

"The good news is, you haven't gotten progressively worse yet."

"And the bad news?"

Doctor Stephens hesitates. "Your T-cells have dropped dramatically and it seems like the virus isn't reacting to the medication anymore."

"How's that possible? I'm taking drugs up the bloody wazoo!"

"Dana tells us that you haven't been sticking to your regimen."

"I'm busy. I don't have the time to take the pills over the stretch of the day."

"But you know that if you don't stick to regimen the virus can become immune to the medication."

I sigh deeply. "How long before I get…." I can't help but trail off.

"If you stay healthy, which you are, you still have a few more years. But that's if we can get you back into the system. You need to stay strict with your meds, Cyril."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"There's an easier way of taking your medication. Why don't we fix you up with that way? You'll be able to take everything once a day."

I'm gratefully, but furious at the same time. "That's not going to buy me time, is it? Why can't I go my whole life with just this, like a lot of other people? I'm seventeen, this isn't fair."

"I know it's not fair, but you caught this in time. Hopefully you won't get AIDS. Hopefully you'll just live your life with HIV, it's still possible. You just have to take care of yourself, like you've always been doing. Just take your pills, young man."


	7. Something About You

**Chapter Seven: Something About You** (restored: April 22, 2005)

"You look like shit, Cyril," Ellie points out, jokingly.

I don't look up from the carpet. "You can't even see my face," I shoot back, my voice muffled because my head is resting on the floor, arms crossed under my ear.

"I can," Marco speaks up. "Ellie's right." He shifts, his feet hitting my shins.

"Watch it." I throw a glare his way.

"Is something wrong?" Ellie asks. "You've been acting like something's been bothering you all day."

I sit up. "Thank you Captain Obvious."

"Chill. We just want to know what's upsetting you," Marco states.

"Nothing's upsetting me, okay?" Someone get them off my back.

"You could've fooled me," Ellie says, sarcasm wrapped around her words.

"I'm just having a rough couple of days," I admit, but I'm not going any farther than that.

Ellie mutes the VMAs. "What's wrong?"

I stand up. "Can't you two just leave me alone? I have enough people breathing down my neck, I don't need you guys to join the party!"

Marco frowns. "We're your friends, Cyril. We just want to know what's wrong."

"Bugger off, the lot of you."

I walk out of the Nash's living room. Slamming the front door, I make my way down the front path and sit down on the curb. I bury my face in my hands.

"_They're trying to help, but they can't help me if they don't know what's wrong."_

I hear someone walking toward me, but I don't have the strength to lift my head and see who it is. The person sits beside me, their shoulder brushing against mine.

"Don't yell at me."

It's Marco.

Saying nothing I remain fixed in my position.

"I know that it's me you're upset about."

_"One of the reasons, yes."_

"And I'm sorry. I really do like you, I'm not intentionally acting like I never told you about my feelings. I'm just not as comfortable in my skin as you are."

I lift my head up and look at him. "You think I'm totally comfortable with myself?"

Marco nods. "You're amazing, you're the person I've always wanted to be. You don't have a single flaw."

_"HA!"_

"You're beautiful, you're perfect: things I'll never be."

I look at Marco, astounded. "How did those words get out of your mouth? You're the amazing, perfect, beautiful one." Do I sound as bad of a dork as I think I do?

Marco shakes his head and starts to talk before I can contradict him even more. "I've known you for a while now…." I can tell he's uncomfortable, but he keeps going anyway. "I'm sick of putting on a front and I'm sick of you and I just being friends."

"What are you saying?"

I wait as Marco tries to struggle out a simple sentence, in my eyes at least. "I want you to.…. Would you like to…. What I mean to say is…be my boyfriend?"

* * *

I just had to say yes, didn't I? Now I really have to tell everyone that I have HIV, but I could get AIDS any time now and die in a few more years…. No. I had a plan and I'm sticking to it.

No one needs to know. I can make it through high school without anyone knowing.

I don't want anyone to pity me for having this. I'm sick of living in a bloody bubble, I'm sick of having to take extra good care of myself, I'm sick of everything I have to do because I'm ill.

I just want to be a normal kid and that's what I'm going to be even if it kills me. No one else needs to know. I'll be fine.


	8. Don't Say

**A quick note:** In this story Marco hasn't come out yet. What you've seen in the series doesn't really hold up here. Only what I mention in this story is carried over from the episodes basically.

**Also:** every movie, car, food stuff, and jar of Vegemite is owned by their respective company(ies).

**Chapter Eight: Don****'t Say**

"Dear God, this stuff's disgusting!" Marco cried, making a face as he grabbed for a napkin to scrape off his tongue. "How can you eat that?" His spoon clanked against the counter top as it fell out of Marco's grip.

I brought the silver spoon back into the Vegemite jar, twirling it around, and stuck the utensil back into my mouth. "Like this," I say with the metal still in my mouth.

Marco laughs while shaking his head. "You're an odd one. Are all Australian's like that?" he jokes.

"Just me," I reply with a shrug. "We haven't decided on a movie yet or should we just skip that and terrorize the little kids?" I smirk.

This was going to be our first official non official date type thing…an outing in other words.

We're at Dana's house, sitting in the kitchen, and looking through the newspaper for show times. So far we've fought over whether or not a paper towel roll can really soak up a spilt glass. Marco won, it didn't soak up all the water.

I watch Marco think. I've noticed that his head leans to the side slightly, not even a hair, and his eyes twinkle like diamonds as they shift. He picks up the newspaper and dropps it suddenly, causing me to jump.

"'Anything Else'?" He gave me his puppy dog face. I laugh.

"Doesn't seem interesting. What about 'Underworld'?"

"Werewolves and vampires…. How about no?" Marco smirks.

I groan. "'Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star'?"

Marco shakes his head and looks back to the newspaper. "We could rent a movie," he throws out, scanning over the listings. "'Finding Nemo'? 'Cold Creek Manor'?"

"Is 'Cold Creek Manor' even out yet?"I ask.

"Three days ago." Marco raises his eyes to me. "Disney or a thriller?" His lifts his hands into the air, making scale motions.

I look blankly at him, my thinking face on. "Neither. We can rent a movie and watch it here in the safety of this huge, dark, eerie, noise making mansion."

Marco frowns and points a finger at me. "That only happened once! How was I suppose to know that the furnace moaned in a menacing, ghost-like manner?" He's so cute when he does that.

"Let's go to the store then." I get off the stool I'm sitting on and twist the cap shut on the Vegemite jar. I look at Marco, who's sitting there with an awkward look on his face. "'Co?"

He jumps slightly. "Do we really want to go all the way to the store? It's way in town, we're on the outskirts of the outskirts."

"It's not that far. Besides, we need cheese popcorn and more soda," I state, confused with Marco's sudden change of emotion.

"We don't need cheese popcorn."

"Yes, we do. One can't watch a movie without it."

Marco looks around the room. "Dana, she's not—"

"I got my license, remember?" It took me months, but I finally passed Driver's Ed. "It's no big deal, Marco." I grab his arm gently and pull him off his stool.

I hear him huff softly as we begin to walk to the garage. I open the door and flip on the lights.

I never get tired of seeing my car. It's a bright yellow Monte Carlo with black flames on the hood. Yes, the wonders of having a wealthy foster mother. I don't let it go to my head, though. I don't think it ever could. We make our way over to the car and I unlock the driver's side door, unlocking the rest of the car doors when I climb into the driver's seat.

Marco, reluctantly, sits shot gun. If there weren't excuses to slamming car doors, I'd ask him what got his boxers in a bundle. I shake his mood off and start the car, seeing Marco's hand quickly change the radio station when a song he doesn't like blares through the speakers.

* * *

I look at two DVDs in my hands.

"It's a tossup between 'House On Haunted Hill' and 'American Beauty.'"

I look at Marco, biting his lip as he stares down at the cases. He seems to have calmed down since we got here, though he was whipping his head around like a paranoid mime being slapped repeatedly.

He picks up 'American Beauty' and puts it back on the rack just as the bell above the main door goes off. I look over, doing that being a force of habit, and see Jimmy walk into the store. Jimmy sees us (the movie racks are near the door) and smiles.

"Hey, guys."

"Hey." I ignore the fact that all the blood in Marco's face leaves for his feet.

Jimmy walks over to us, quickly outstretching an arm to grab a bag of Fritos on a nearby rack. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? We're trying to find a movie," I explain.

"For what?" Jimmy asks, looking at the two of us with a smirk of his face. "A date?"

I open my mouth to say that Jimmy's assumption is correct, but Marco interrupts me.

"No. We're just having a guy's night out. You know. Talk about girls or guys in Cyril's case."

Jimmy laughs. "And why wasn't I invited?"

"We didn't know you'd be around," Marco replies. "Sorry."

"It's all right, man. I'm here now," Jimmy boasts.

I want to slap him.

"_No, don't hit your boyfriend, Cyril. That would be wrong."_

"Dana isn't home," I speak up. "You've been over there before…."

Jimmy rolls his eyes. "Yeah. The whole 'no more than four people' law and the big brother cameras. I understand. Maybe another time," he volunteers. "Well. I've got shopping to do. See you around."

"Bye."

I grip the DVD case tighter and scoff quietly, walking over to the cashier. I hear the popcorn bag collide with the soda carton as Marco follows me, setting the things down on the glass counter. I remain silent, only to say "Thank you" when I pay for the items and get the movie.

I hand Marco the paper bag and take the lemon-lime soda. When driving back home I ask like a naive little child, "What was that?"

"What was what?" Marco asks back.

"The lie you told Jimmy."

"It wasn't a lie."

"'We're just having a guy's night out. You know. Talk about girls or guys in Cyril's case,'" I spit.

Marco sighs. "Don't get mad, I just didn't know how to tell him. I'm sure you have things you still have to tell people, things you're too uncomfortable to tell them just yet…."


	9. First Time For Everything

**Chapter Nine: First Time For Everything**

One of the things that I hate most about my personality is the fact that I can never hold grudges very long. Even if I did, I wouldn't be able to keep this one; I'd be a hypocrite.

Marco and I are sitting in the living room, pitch back except the television screen and the light from the fire. I told Marco that I was freezing, when I reality I wanted to freak him out, so he let me start a fire in the 'creepy' fire place.

We've made a mess of the house and the movie hasn't even started. But it's more fun cleaning up the mess than starting it. Somehow you always create even more of a mess.

The bag of popcorn is sitting in-between us, making us hit our elbows against the back of the couch if we want a handful. Cans of soda are spread around the coffee and side tables, my jar of Vegemite is sitting open on the coffee table beside a box of crackers and a knife, and the remote for the DVD player is in my hand.

"You sure you're not going to scream like a little girl? I can go and turn the lights on." The movie isn't scary, but I can bet that Marco will jump at least five times.

Marco shakes his head, the glow from the fire outlining his profile. "I'll be fine."

I shrug and lift up the remote, press 'play', and lean back into the over-sized couch.

Marco starts to jump a lot sooner than most people I know who've watched this movie. His head is resting against my shoulder and his fingers are digging into my arm before the people even get into the house! Despite the pain and the feeling that my arm is falling off, I continue to watch the movie. I get really hungry, but not being able to get to the crushed popcorn or my Vegemite without Marco's dead weight following me I sit here and let my stomach growl.

I can't help but chuckle as Marco starts talking to the screen.

"No, no. Move, move, move. Get out of there!" he whimpers to Evelyn when she's knocked through the decaying wall and she's laying on ashes when the evil of the house advances toward her.

I grin, though it was more of a grimace because of his fingers are digging into my flesh, as I hear Marco yelp. He grips my arm tighter and I can't hold back a laugh. Marco raises his head, brown eyes wide.

"You laughing at me?"

Turning my head to look at him, I reply: "No. I'm laughing with you only you're not laughing."

"My being scared amuses you?"

I laugh again. "The movie's not scary."

Marco releases my arm from its death grip and lightly smacks me. "It is to scary, he retorts like a child.

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." I smirk.

"Why do you have so much fun making fun of me?"

I think for a second or two. "Because it's so easy," I reply, getting a smile from Marco.

He seems to have forgotten about the whole Jimmy thing. I look back at the big screen and feel Marco's head go back to its resting place on my shoulder.

* * *

**_three months later_**

I've been having mixed feelings for a while now, it's driving me insane.

Marco and I seem to be close friends, not a couple. He keeps saying to me that he's not ready to come out, but that's still no reason to do what he's been doing: not even letting me stand next to him and shit like that.

I can't understand him. I've tried but, I just haven't been able to succeed.

I've always known that I was gay, it's not like I've loved girls and the next second I liked guys. I've always gotten crushes on other boys, not girls. I was born gay, but I can't say the same about every gay man out there. There should be a handbook about these things: 'What does it mean when my boyfriend is pushing me away?'

I'm at Marco's house. No one's home but us, not that it matters. I came over to get help on a science assignment, one that I've been procrastinating on for a while now. We got halfway through it when we got hungry, so I brought up the idea for a pizza. After turning on the oven, I turn around and bump into Marco.

"Sorry. I didn't see you," I apologize as I watch Marco reach over and grab the pizza box.

"It's all right." He smiles and backs up. Then his smile fades and looks up at me. "Can I tell you something? Promise you won't freak out?"

"Unless you're going to tell me that you're pregnant, I won't freak out." I know it's a horrible joke.

Marco laughs softly. "It's more of a question, actually. I mean—"

"Marco."

He takes a deep breath. "You've…been with other guys, right?"

"Depends on what you mean by the word been."

Marco grips the pizza box tighter. "Well…you've kissed another guy, right?"

_"Three and a half moths and he asks me something like this now?"_

"I have."

He looks down at the ground. I barely hear him whisper out: "What's it like?"

I try not to laugh, just because of the fact I've never been asked that before, especially by a boyfriend.

"If you were bi I'd tell you that it's just like kissing a girl, but since you're not…." I wouldn't be able to finish what I'm saying even if I wanted to.

Marco leans up, a feat all its own, and kisses me. My eyes are wide with shock, but soon close when I feel Marco's hand shakily rest on my neck. I return the kiss, my own hands resting on Marco's hips. Time seems to slow down to a snail's pace, but soon we pull away slightly.

Blinking, I try to make sure that what happened really did.

Marco's eyes are staring deep into mine, as if he's seeing right through me or reading my every thought. God only knows how long we're standing there staring at each other until, as if an unseen signal went off, we lean in and kiss again. The kiss is deeper this time. It's kind of like a piece of a Hershey bar, one you have one piece you want another and another and another. Great, I'm comparing a kiss to a chocolate bar.

It's amazing, though, the kiss I mean. You can kiss a lot of guys in your life, but nothing can compare to this one. I feel Marco tug at the hem of my shirt and we start walking forward to the stairs—well myself forward and Marco back.


	10. Did I Ever Tell You

**Note:** I do not own Less Than Jake or any of their songs. Go to freetranslation. (no triple w) if you don't understand the French. I suggest using "Free Translation" or "Systran" instead of "Altravista". There's also some strong language near the end of this chapter.

**Chapter Ten: Did I Ever Tell You...**

I lug my bag down the hallway, my shoulder about to fall to a heap on the floor. Finally getting to my locker, I drop my backpack on the floor and fiddle with my lock. When I get my locker open, I start to switch out my books for the next block of classes, singing that annoying song by Less Than Jake.

"I could be an expert on co-dependency, I could write the best book on underage tragedy. I've been spending my time at the local liquor store, I've been sleeping nightly on my best friend's kitchen floor. So I sit and wait and wonder, 'Does anyone else feel like me?' I'm so overdosed on apathy and put down on sympathy—"

"Like Less Than Jake, do you?" I hear Ashley laugh.

I shake my head. "Hate them, actually. I just have this damn song stuck in my head."

She laughs again as I continue to switch my books. "I have a proposition for you," Ashley states.

"Oh? What would that be?" I stop and look at her. She's almost beaming.

"How would you like to go on a blind date?"

"A blind date? No. Thanks, anyway."

Ashley huffs. "I haven't even told you about the guy yet!" she exclaims.

"I'm not into blind dates." I put the last of my books in the backpack and stand up. "The guy could be a murderer for all we know." I shut my locker and replace the lock.

"He's not, trust me." Ashley smiles. "Sully's a great guy, give him a chance."

I sigh. "No, Ashley."

"And why not? You've been single for too long, it's time to get you a boyfriend."

"Again. I don't do blind dates. I'm sorry." I pat her on the shoulder and walk away, swinging my backpack over my shoulder and heading off to the French room.

I slide into my seat, noticing that Marco isn't in the desk beside mine. I figure that he's just late, but when Md. Bouvier walks into the room and shuts the door behind her, I realize he's not here.

"_Bonjour, classe_," Md. Bouvier greets us, setting her bag on the desk.

"_Bonjour, Madame Bouvier_," we all say in unison, myself sulking in my seat.

Md. Bouvier smiles. "_Aujourd'hui nous étudierons la construction de phrases avec nos partenaires_."

Just great. My partner isn't here. I sigh and look out the window, not the best thing to do if you're in the front row.

"_Monsieur Arrington! Je suis ici, pas dehors_." Md. Bouvier walks over to me and taps her fist on my desk. "_Où est Monsieur Del Rossi?_"

I shrug, dissecting what she's saying. That's the problem with having a language teacher that speaks only in the language you're suppose to learn. "_Je ne sais pas où Marco est, je ne l'ai pas vu toute journée_." I hope I said that right.

Md. Bouvier shakes her head. "_Lui. Vous ne avez vu lui toute journée_."

"Oh. Sorry."

"_En français_." Md. Bouvier wags her finger at me. "_Vous pouvez travailler avec Ashley_." She motions to the desk diagonal from me, where Ashley sits, and then directs her attention back to the class. She claps her hands twice. "_Travailler maintenant!_"

I scoop up my books and backpack, stand up, and work my way to Ashley's desk. Other desks are making loud droning noises as the students slide them to their partner's. I plop down into the desk in front of Ashley and smile.

"_Bonjour_."

She rolls her eyes, opening up her book to the directed pages. "_Aveugle date. Vous. Sully. Vendredi_." She crosses her arms and looks at the writing in her book.

"_No_."

"_Oui_."

"_No. La fin de discussion_."

* * *

Marco runs down the hall, nearly colliding with me. "Hey. Cyril. Sorry." He tries to catch his breath.

"Where were you? You left me all alone with Ashley and her blind date."

"I slept really late, no one woke me up." Marco laughs lightly. "What's this about a blind date?" He starts to head to the computer lab, I walk with him.

I shake my head. "His name's Sully. Ashley's all over me, trying to make me go."

"Why don't you?" Marco asks, somewhat loudly when a few people pass. I guess I got used to this. It's funny, though, when he first asked me out he said he was tired of putting on a front. "I mean—"

"Even if we weren't together, I don't do blind dates." Together in the same sentence as blind dates: Marco could have said 'What if I go with you. Y'know. With a date of my own?' I sigh.

Marco looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. "You okay?"

I nod. "I'm just a little lightheaded."

"To bring it up, you don't look so good."

I laugh. "You and Ellie are so much alike, it's scary. You must do that every day, tell people they don't look good."

Marco frowns and bumps into Spinner when we get to the computer lab. I go inside, knowing that Spinner isn't 'comfortable' around me anymore. I wrote it off as homophobia the day after I came out.

I look over at the open doorway, seeing Marco talk to him and shake his head, occasionally the two looking over at me. I see Marco shake his head a final time and walk into the room, looking and walking away from me.

_"What the fuck?"_

I bring my eyes back to the door.

Spinner's still there, as if spying on Marco to see where he's going to sit. I log into the computer and decide to check my mail. It's like this the entire class period: Marco not even looking at the other side of the room, just forward at the teacher.

Class flies by, or not, but the bell rings eventually. I walk out of the room; not waiting for Marco, not waiting for anyone. I just want to go to Health, with or without my so-called boyfriend.

* * *

What's worse than sitting in a health class, staring at the words 'Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome', and having a lump rise in your throat? Sitting in a health class, staring at the words 'Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome' and 'Human Immunodeficiency Virus', and having a lump rise in your throat.

This is much like a nightmare, especially knowing what half the people in this room are going to say. Lord, just shoot me now.

I lean back in my chair and look at the red headed woman at the front of the room.

I know everything that there is to know about AIDS and HIV, I don't need to hear it all again. I act like I'm paying attention when I'm really not and watch the woman walk around the room and inform us about the diseases. Tuning everything out has gotten easy for me, I just sit and stare at something; completely oblivious as to what's going on.

The woman picks up a pile of small books and hands them to the kid in the front of my row, most likely telling him to take one and pass it back.

Being paranoid, you can pretty much tell if someone's eyes are trying to bore a giant hole in your head…and that's what's happening now. I blink, bringing myself back into reality, and look to the left. Spinner's staring at me like I'm a cold sore. He raises his hand and looks forward.

"It's only gays that get HIV/AIDS, right?" Why did I know that that was going to happen?

"No." The woman shakes her head. "Anyone can get infected. From blood, semen, vaginal fluid, breast milk, and any other body fluids containing blood that you come in contact with."

None-the-less Spinner goes back to staring at me. I look down at the book in my hands, one I've seen many times before, and try to erase Spinner's face from my line of vision.

Anyone else would probably be scared for their life right about know, the whole 'let's bash a gay and blame this disease on him!' thing. But I'm twice the size of most people here, well, height wise.

I count the minutes until I can get out of here and to home, but the clock seems to have stopped. The bell rings and I swear that the clock hasn't moved at all. I grab my things and walk out into the hall, but stop.

Spinner brushes past me and I follow him. "I really appreciate what you said back there, Mason!" Maybe I shouldn't have yelled…eh, tough cookies.

He turns and I see his eyes grow wide. "I had every right to ask that question, don't bite my head off."

"Yeah, you did, but that doesn't mean you can look at me like I'm the cause of it all," I spit.

"I was just looking at you—"

"Because I'm gay. Since I'm into guys I have to be the fucking cause of everything? I'm not a bag of scum nor is any gay man. You're a fucking pussy!" I'm about to hit him, but I walk off instead. Surprisingly, Marco doesn't run up to me to see what's wrong. Spinner must have gotten to him in some way. I don't get it, Spinner's nothing but a wannabe tough guy…how can he even scare a leaf?

I look back for a split second and Spinner's face is an off shade of red, red with anger.

* * *

The next day I haven't calmed down any. I'm probably going to see a visit to the office sometime, but it'll be worth it.

As I'm walking down the hall to my locker I notice that no one seems to be moving. They're all staring in the direction of my locker. Ellie sees me and walks over, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"I don't think you should go over there."

"What are you talking about? I need to get my books, El."

I wish I knew what was going on. Continuing down the hall, I notice Marco's the only one by my locker. It's like slow motion; you want to know what's going on, but at the same moment you don't, making your legs turn into tree stumps.

I get to my locker. I instantly regret wanting to know what the fuss was about.


	11. Head On Collision

**Chapter Eleven: Head On Collision**

My eyes start to burn as I stand in front of my locker and stare at the word spray painted on the steel.

The silence of the hallway becomes deafening, a feeling of nausea rises in my throat, and I want to scream. Each letter of the word "faggot" seems to glow, mocking me yet hurting me all the same.

"Who did this? Who fucking did this?" The anger takes over me.

I look around, people out early from study hall look back at me; disgusted by the fact that someone could do something like this. My eyes come to rest on Marco, who looks down at the floor as if trying to become invisible.

"You?" I spit; taken aback, hurt, shocked, and all that good stuff.

I can barely hear him speak. "I had to…."

"You had to?" I nearly scream. "Who would- why would you do something like this?"

"I had to prove that I'm not…."

"That you're not what?"

Marco shakes his head and turns his back to me, starting down the hall with his head down. I follow him, the events of the past days exploding forth.

"Turn around, Marco!" I grab his shoulder and turn him to face me. "How could you do this? You of all the people in the bloody world."

"I told you, I had to."

"Bullshit! Did someone hold a gun to your head?" I don't care if I get suspended, I'm too enraged to care about anything at the moment. "Quit trying to be something that you're not! Stop trying to make a fake image for everyone!"

"No! You stop it!" Marco yells. "Just stop acting like you know me, back the fuck off! Leave me alone!"

"I don't act like I know you, do you know why? Because I don't. I don't know you. You keep lying to me—to everyone! I'm sick of it, Marco!"

Marco's voice drops dramatically to a whisper. "How am I suppose to tell everyone the truth?"

I think I just lost control over my body. I'm still moving when I don't think I can. I take Marco's hands and pull him to me.

"Cyril, w—what are you doing? People are watching. Class lets out any second." Marco starts to panic, losing any anger towards me as I grip his hands tighter, giving them a squeeze before slipping my arms through his and place my hands at the small of his back.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I can't stop myself. This is just happening and I don't have any say in this.

Two seconds later my lips are pressing against Marco's. I hear a droned bell, slow and morphed voices, and time seems to inch by. The world's slowed down and I'm too lost in this feeling to care.

Before I know it Marco pushes me away from him. I can see hurt in his eyes as he starts to scream at me. "What the hell are you doing, queer?" His words slice me like daggers and he storms away, leaving me standing in the middle of a sea of eyes.

* * *

I slam the front door behind me.

Try as I might I can't shake my rage and confusion. My face is tear stained, my make-up is probably run, and I'm just starting to be able to breathe when I hear a phone being slammed down in the kitchen. Now, the kitchen's all the way at the back of the house so someone must be pretty pissed.

"Dana?" I walk into the kitchen, scared to death of what caused her to get so upset.

She runs a hand through her hair, turning to look at me. I notice she's crying. What is this? International Get Hurt Day?

"We need to talk."

"About what? Who was that?"

Dana walks over to the breakfast table. "You might want to sit down, honey." She pulls out a chair and sits herself down, looking like she's been hit by a grand piano.

"I'm fine standing."

"Sit," Dana commands, causing me to scramble to a chair across from her.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

She looks at me, her eyes red from crying. "That was Doctor Stephens…."


	12. The Sun Doesn't Rise

**Chapter Twelve: The Sun Doesn't Rise**

I sit there in shock, my mind not able to comprehend what Dana's telling me. "What?"

Dana sighs deeply. "You had a check-up a week ago, remember?…You have AIDS." She tries to hold it together, but I can tell it's difficult for her.

"That's not possible. I'm healthy, I'm on meds…." Stage one revisited: denial.

"You know that no matter what the HIV will lead to AIDS. It's only a matter of time."

I should be crying or screaming. Maybe there's a reason as to why I'm not. I guess I'm still recovering from the time I found out that I was positive. I'm dying and not one fucking tear.

My mouth doesn't open, my eyes won't shift away from the table cloth, and my body is so tense someone could use me as a chair. My vision begins to blur and it doesn't seem like I'm breathing.

Finally I find my voice. "I…I'm going to go up to my room."

Dana nods as I get up slowly. "Are you going to be down for dinner?" The words shake as she says them.

"I don't know. I just want to be by myself for a while."

When I get to my room I shut the door and walk over to my bed. Collapsing to the mattress I scream, my face against the sheets. I finally do start to bawl, no end currently in sight.

Eventually I can't breathe anymore, but that doesn't seem to stop me from crying my eyes out.

A flash enters my mind; my razor.

I could pop out a razor blade with something and….

No.

But I'm dying anyway, nothing wrong with speeding it up….

No. That'll be taking the easy way out.


	13. Heavy Is The Head That Wears The Crown

**Chapter Thirteen: Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown**

Reluctantly I wake up the next day.

I fell asleep during my crying episode, so there's no doubt that I look like shit at the bottom of a can. I roll out of bed, shower, and dress.

The lesion I noticed on my collar bone a few days ago has all but gotten smaller, but luckily it's covered by my sweatshirt. If I was more aware that would've tipped me off.

I'd skip school if I could. I really don't feel like going into that building today. Pretty soon I'm going to look really sick, I'll have people down my back, and even if I don't tell anyone it's not like no one will know that nothing's up. I soon make my way into the kitchen and toast myself a slice of bread, watching the minutes tick by.

"Are you sure you want to go into school today?" Dana's voice snaps me from my trance.

I shrug.

"Why don't you go. If you want to come home, just call me and let me know." Dana pulls a yogurt out of the refrigerator and hands it to me along with a spoon she quickly snatches from the dishwasher.

I give her an odd look.

"Go on. It's clean."

* * *

I park my car in the school parking lot and sit there. Looking out the windshield, Fish from the local rock station hitting on some girl faintly floating through the car, I watch as students walk into the school.

They don't seem to have a care in the world, like they're living in a bubble and nothing bad can happen to them. I used to be like that, emphasis on used to.

Shutting off the car's engine I climb out of the vehicle and lock the doors.

As I'm walking up to the building I can hear someone run up behind me and call my name. Marco. I grip my shoulder bag tighter and continue on my way. I'm not going to let him make a fool out of me again. He must've gotten the hint quickly, for he heads away from me and goes somewhere else.

For once I get to homeroom on time and get settled in my seat. I must've drifted off because I get a start when Paige taps me on the shoulder.

"Hey," I greet her, waiting for my heart rate to return to normal.

Paige smiles, somewhat grimly. "Hi. I heard about what happened the other day, I'm really sorry."

"Don't be."

"Well I am. What Marco did was really…sick and wrong. I hope he gets punished for doing that," she states, her eyes looking me over. "Have you lost weight?"

I nod. No use in trying to deny it.

"You look good, but don't go giving us another reason to worry about you, okay?"

"Worry about me?" I question.

Paige shrugs and turns around as the teacher walks into the room.

The day goes by somewhat quickly, the lunch bell ringing before I know it. I follow the swarm of people into the cafeteria, but turn around when I figure that I'm not hungry enough to put the food to any good use.

Heading down the hallways to the men's washroom, I can't help but sigh deeply and let my thoughts wander off again. I hear someone behind me again and turn, only to meet Marco. I turn back around and continue on my way, but he calls my name.

"What do you want?" I ask, perturbed.

"We need to talk."

Scoffing, I reply: "About what? Do you want to call me a faggot again?"

"Please," Marco says softly. "Just give me five minutes."

I turn around and look down at him coldly. "Not a second more." I put a hand on top of a water fountain and lean against it slightly, watching Marco.

"I'm getting suspended for what I did. I'm going to pack up my stuff soon. I deserve it. I never should have done that to you, it was heartless and I was being a huge hypocrite. I'm sorry."

I roll my eyes. "Did the principal make you say that?"

Marco sighs. "No, he didn't…. Well, some of it."

"I figured."

"Could you just listen to me, please?"

I stop leaning against the water fountain and cross my arms. "Why should I listen to you? Half of what you've ever told me was probably a bloody lie." I start walking away from him, shutting my eyes tightly because I'm the one lying.

Marco follows me. "I may be a bastard, but I'm not a lying bastard. Not much of one anyway. I'm just—"

"'Afraid of what people think of you', I know," I say flatly.

"It's not like I'm the only one in the world who lies. I'm sure you do, too."

I nearly bite clean through my bottom lip. I stop walking, but keep my back to Marco.

"I really do like you, I'd never lie about something like that. It's just the fact that—" he lowers his voice even though no one else is around "—I'm gay. Just because things are going well with you doesn't mean they will for me. You came out right away. I've been playing the straight boy for years!"

"It's not that big of a deal, Marco. It's not like everyone in the universe is going to blow you off and treat you like radioactive waste."

"I know that, but my mind is still trapped in the era of gay bashing and things like that."

"And what you did to me wasn't gay bashing?" I nearly yell, whipping my body around to look at Marco.

Marco's sad expression becomes even sadder. "I said that I was sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough, Marco. Do you think that I can just forget that this never happened and get on with my life?" I spit. "I would if I could, but it's not planned out like that." Again, I start to walk away from him.

"What isn't planned out like that?" Marco asks, staying where he is. "You're little picture on life?"

I stop dead in my tracks. "No," I croak out. "My life in general."

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

I can't keep it in any longer, all my feelings blow up. "I'm dying, okay? That's what it means!" I yell. I don't remember turning around, but the look on Marco's face will be plastered in my mind for eternity.

The silence is overwhelming, Marco just looking at me with his eyes wide. After what seems like years, he talks at last. "You're what?"

"I…I have AIDS."

Like a light switch Marco's expression turns to rage. "And you didn't tell me? We…." His hands rise to grip his hair for several seconds. "You could've given it to me!"

"No. We used condoms." I feel like a deer in headlights.

"That doesn't matter! You didn't tell me!" His voice raises and lowers; like he wants to keep his voice down, but it isn't working too well. "What if we didn't use condoms, huh? What would you be saying now?" He yells again, but just like another flick of the switch his voice becomes soft and wavery. "How long?"

I pause, trying to recover from his sudden change of moods. "I found out yesterday, but I was HIV positive for five years…."

"I thought we were each other's first."

"You were. It was—I was twelve. The boys from the home I was in decided to play soccer. I was on my way to the goal when I collided with John Matyniak. He got a pretty bad gash on his head and the wound that was already on my arm reopened. I was wearing a wife-beater and we were both knocked out…John's head was resting on the arm with my open cut, bleeding right into it." I explain grimly. "It's funny how you can remember details like that. Getting HIV that way is really tricky, but it's one of the only things I didn't fail at."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Because I didn't want anyone to treat me like I'm some sort of cripple. Just because I'm dying faster than most people, it doesn't mean I should be on the sidelines."

More silence grips us. My lips seem to be cemented together, all I can do is look at Marco. He doesn't meet my eyes. He begins to back away from me and soon shakes his head.

"I'm sorry…." Eventually he turns around and I see him walk away from me and disappear around the end of the hallway.


	14. What Made Me Try?

**Chapter Fourteen: What Made Me Try?**

Months pass. My health getting worse. Marco still on his hiatus for what he's done.

I brought myself to tell everyone about my…"condition" shortly after I told Marco. I regretted it, instantly finding myself being treated like a fragile piece of glass. I also felt good though, realizing that I didn't have to be careful about what I say or how I go about saying it.

I do, however, have to take precautions about a lot of things. My social life's pretty much gone, what with all the I.Vs I have to go through just to keep me alive longer; not like it helps, I don't find any use in prolonging what's going to happen.

I'm eighteen now, but not enjoying it. I don't get any freedom nor do I await the letters from all the colleges I've applied to because I haven't done such a thing. What am I going to do? Got to college for a year or two then drop dead? My dreams all shattered years go. I never found a point in striving for something I will never have.

Dana frowns, tapping the I.V and realizing that it doesn't want to work.

"Maybe it's clogged. Try washing it out," I suggest, skimming over a magazine article.

Shaking her head Dana stares at my arm where the needle has gone into my skin. "I think the vein could have collapsed. Let's take it out and find another one."

"No," I say flatly, shutting Revolver with my right hand. "It's my arm. I say we just skip a treatment, all it does is make me feel like I'm walking through pudding."

"Cyril, this stuff is—"

"Save the speech, I already know what this stuff is doing," I say as kindly as I can.

* * *

I adjust my trucker hat, pulling the bill down to block my eyes. "Too bad I don't look like Fred Durst, I'd be able to pull this look off," I joke. "Maybe I need to fatten up and get tattoos."

Ellie chuckles. "Grow a go-tee and shrink a couple of feet." She stabs her green beans with her fork, casting her gaze out the lunch room window. "Marco comes back later today," she throws out.

Ashley and I shrug simultaneously. "It's been five months already?" I say emotionless.

"He's paid his dues," Ellie says after swallowing her food. "It's bad enough he has to take half of grade eleven again, he's even missed a lot of grade twelve things…."

Again, I shrug. "I bet he's glad that he missed a few things," I reply in monotone. "Who'd want to go to the first grade twelve only dance of the year?" I look down at my own food.

I never wanted today to rear its ugly head. I just thought of how good it would be to not have Marco around at all. He turned his back on me, that's worse than any slap in the face or knife in the spine.

"You're going to talk to him, aren't you?" Ashley asks, probably just for the sake of hearing her own voice.

I shake my head. "Why should I?"

Ellie slams her fork down, causing me to jump. "Because you still like him, and he you."

Pushing my tray forward, I rise to my feet and listen to the chair screech out behind me. "You know he screwed me over Ellie or haven't you gotten the memo?" Without another word I stalk out of the cafeteria and make my way to the main doors.

Too bad the school doesn't believe in letting students go off school grounds to eat…I'd be in the country side or somewhere by now. I walk through the foyer and make my way outside, jogging oddly down the stone steps.

I stuff my hands into my sweatshirt pockets, lowering my head, and thirty seconds later I bump into someone. I raise my head to see Marco, feet planted to the grass and eyes fixed on me. He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.

"Watch where you're going, would you?" I hiss, not nearly as pissed off as I want to come off as.

He starts to form a word again, only to be interrupted by me another time.

"Welcome back. I missed you," I say sarcastically, continuing to my car. I hear Marco sigh, whether it's fake or not I'm not sure.

The time in which Marco was suspended was bliss. I didn't have to worry about a fight or what act I'd be putting on that day. I did miss him in a way, though, I'll admit that.

Even if he got me mad enough to burst at the seams Marco always seemed to smile or do something that made everything…stop. There could be a twinkle in his eyes, his voice could squeak if he was nervous; something small, but at the same time huge and beautiful. Somewhere along the line that ended abruptly, probably around the time he...

I just tried to block him out which still hasn't been working.

Oh great, it's happening again.

I'm trying to be mean and heartless to Marco, just as he was to me, but I'm melting faster than an ice cream cone on a hot summer day in the outback.

What made me try to change the inevitable? What made me try to be something that I'm not? What made me…feel?


	15. Silence Overwhelms The Mind

**Chapter Fifteen: Silence Overwhelms the Mind**

I sit in my car until the bell rings, basically thinking about how much of a fool I am.

Marco treats me like scum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, but I still have feelings for him. I can't convince myself that I don't think about him, I can't not drift off without scolding myself for telling him that I'm dying of an incurable disease….

Now I know how Freddie Mercury felt, telling the world that he had AIDS the day before he died.

Marco stood thunderstruck for about a minute and a half. I would know, I was watching him. He looked so upset, almost to the verge of tears.

I would have laughed if he did cry; Marco has enough in him to leave me in my 'moment of need', but he can't handle snide remarks. It's not like Marco didn't deserve it, he should have a worse comeuppance for what he did. Eventually, though, he walked inside the school and nothing's happened since. I've pondered skipping the rest of the day, I have the right to do that, what with my 'condition'.

Groaning, I get out of my car and reluctantly decide on walking to Math class.

I try to saunter down the hallways without anyone running up to me and going about Marco being back, but that works for about three minutes before Ashley jogs up to me.

"I hear you shot Marco down during the last part of lunch. I was wondering where you went off too," she says, a small hint of amusement in her voice.

"I was going to my car when I ran into him—we seem to do a lot of that—and I, well, wasn't that nice to him," I reply, stopping at my locker quickly to get my backpack.

Ashley tries to frown, but it looks more like a smirk. "He came over to our table. He's pretty shaken up about what you said, shockingly enough. What did you say, anyway?" When Ashley found out what Marco did to me (both the word spray painted on my locker and the yelling/turning his back on me), she hasn't really thought of him that kindly since. She's the one I go to when I need to vent about him which hasn't been that much anymore.

Shutting my locker, we start walking again. "Nothing anyone would sob over. Just that he should watch where he's going and that I didn't miss him while he was gone."

I hear Ashley laugh slightly. "Marco was acting like you tore off his right arm and ran off with it. Well, this is where I leave you. I'll see you later."

Ashley and I part ways, she going off to English and I walk into the Math room. I slide into my seat behind Marco, catching a distraught look on his face, and get out my Trigonometry book.

* * *

One good thing about being in the last year of school is Study Hall, the class period in which you can sleep or finish off all your homework—both if you're able to do your work fast enough.

You're allowed to go into the cafeteria if you're one of the people who can hold good grades; the lucky bastards can eat and do whatever they'd like in there. Apparently, I'm not worthy of Commons. I get to sit in a boiling hot room with a teacher that could be Captain Kangaroo's long lost twin brother, and that's no joke.

I'm reading the last chapter of my book, which is finally getting interesting (Thirty-nine chapters and the book is just picking up speed), when Mr. Sawyer stops in front of my desk. I look up, trying not to breathe in his cheep cologne.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Mr. Sawyer corrects me. Oh! the pain of having an ex-English teacher for Study Hall. "Mr. MacKinnon would like to see you in his office, Arrington. Preferably before the end of the world, please. Thank you." With that he walks away to scorn some person in the back for popping his bubble gum.

I shoot him a glare, readjust my cap and gather my things. _"I guess I won't be getting a homework free afternoon today,"_ I think as I'm walking down the corridors to the main office, wondering why the principal would want to see me. Of all the terminally ill kids in this school, Mr. MacKinnon wants to see me.

Arriving at the office I walk in and sit down on a chair in the waiting room like I've done so many times before. The secretary looks up, smiles at me, and takes thirteen seconds away from typing something down on the computer to say: "Hello, Cyril. Having a nice day? The principal will be with you momentarily."

I mutter a "My day isn't half bad, thank you" but go unheard over the resumed pounding of the keys. Is there really any point in sending someone down to the office when you're going to be interrupted in an important class? Why can't principals call you down during a pointless class like History?

After waiting for who-knows-how-long, Principal MacKinnon walks down a hallway half hidden by a sectioning wall. He grins at me and motions for me to come with him to his office. I get up, sling my backpack over my right shoulder, and walk with Mr. MacKinnon down the dark hallway.

"I have some news for you, Cyril," Mr. MacKinnon tells me when we reach his office. "I'm sure you'll be as happy as I am."

Sitting down in a leather chair I look up at Mr. MacKinnon without any expression on my face.

Mr. MacKinnon, his grin somehow widened, sits down behind his desk. "Ah, the Leafs. Very good Hockey team if you ask me," he comments on my hat, something I'm deathly annoyed and accustomed with. "Anyway, I've brought you down here to tell you some exciting news."

_"I had no idea."_

"Now, I received a letter yesterday." He stops for drama, which never works at all. "You've recieved a scholarship to Ontario College of Art and Design!" Mr. MacKinnon grins even more, crinkling his eyes, and looks at me as if I should jump up and hug him.

I blink. "What? I'm not even a good student, how'd I get a scholarship?"

Mr. MacKinnon's grin fades, a look of annoyance of his face, probably because I'm not squealing with delight over the news. "Well—given your circumstances…."

"My circumstances? Oh, so this is all out of pity?"

Mr. MacKinnon frowns. "Not at all. You're very gifted in art, you've even told the teachers you want to be an artist many times—"

"I'm not going," I say flatly.

"Why not, Cyril? This is a great opportunity."

I scoff. "What if I do go? I'll die in my first or second year, so there's no point in going. It's not like anything's going to happen and even if it does—" I shrug "—I'll never live long enough to make a name for myself."

Mr. MacKinnon sighs. "We've had a talk like this before. Cyril, with your attitude you will die. If you think you won't die, if you don't want to die, you won't. You should go, you know that. It'll be good for you—"

"You mean it'll be good for you and this school. Sending a dying person to a college or any shit like that, that always gets good marks for the school. If I don't go to college, a boy with AIDS, what will people think about Degrassi Community High School?" I get up and storm out of the office, throwing in a "It'll snow on the mountains of Hell before I take that scholarship!" for good measure.

* * *

Over the next few weeks I'm scorned for walking out of the office like that. Ashley and Ellie want to take my head for doing something as "stupid" as that.

I talked to Marco once, only because I broke down and had to, and it wasn't that bad. It was great just hearing him talk calmly and seeing his face somewhat back to normal. Corny, I know.

We were outside in gym. He had twisted his ankle the other day, so he sat next to me on the bleachers and watched the other students run around the track. It was like an invisible wall was in-between is, so thick that sound couldn't get through, but eventually one of us said something.

"I came out," Marco had said in a rush, like he was waiting ages to say that.

I looked over at him. "Really? Good for you," I had replied sincerely.

Marco had cast his eyes to his shoes and white socks. "Some people didn't take it too well."

"Like who? Spinner?"

Marco nodded. "It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be though, I don't know why I didn't do it years ago."

"It would've saved us a lot of trouble," I said, the words just slipping from my mouth.

"Look here, but you don't have to believe me. I'm really sorry about everything I put you though."

I turned my head to look at his profile. "I know you are, but that doesn't fix anything you've done."

It wasn't the best conversation in the world.

Marco took back his sad expression and I went back to feeling like a heartless monster, but at least I had talked to him for a short period of time.


	16. Heart Decorated Like A Grave

**Bren:** Mr. Raditch is the principal of the middle school, is he not? Degrassi Community High School is back up and running in this story, meaning that everyone is in that school. I could be mistaken and if I am, thanks for pointing that out.

**everyone else:** Thank you so very much for the reviews, many of them even made me smile ear to ear. You should congratulate yourselves because that rarely happens.

**Chapter Sixteen: Heart Decorated Like A Grave**

"How could you have done that to him?" Ellie asks. "Do you have any idea of how much he cares about you?"

I laugh. "If that's caring I don't want to see—"

"All Marco's ever done is try to belong! He isn't like you, he actually cares about what people think of him. Not once since I've met him has he ever not stopped to wonder about what someone's going to say about what he's wearing, what he says, how he says it, or anything like that. Why can't you just stop and open your eyes? Why can't you realize that you still have feelings for him?" Ellie yells at me, her face going an off shade of red. "Don't try to deny it either. It's not hard to miss the look in your eyes when someone even mentions his name. Your eyes twinkle when he passes you in the halls or—"

"All right, Ellie! I get your point. What do you want me to do, huh? I do have feelings for him, strong bloody feelings, but for some reason I can't say what I want to say! For God-knows-how long I've been trying to say something like 'I love you, Marco, I'm sorry', but I always tell him off and act like a complete bastard!" I snap.

Ellie stares at me, wide eyed and silent. Slowly the hue of red leaves her face, her hands loosen their grip on one of her bed pillows. As if a word doesn't want to come out Ellie opens and closes her mouth, but soon she's able to squeak out. "What did you say?'

"I don't know, what did I say?" I ask, highly irritated.

"You…you love Marco?" Ellie stumbles out, her gaze not leaving my face.

I narrow my eyes. "I never said that."

Ellie nods slowly, dropping the white pillow on the floor as she stands up. She points a finger at me and finally blinks. "You do, don't you? You love Marco."

"I…."

"Oh my, God. You do love Marco!" Ellie's face goes from shock to joy. "Oh my, God. Oh my, God."

"Would you stop saying 'oh my God'?"

Ellie starts walking around in a small circle. "I'm sorry, but oh my, God."

Huffing, I cross my arms. "Would you mind telling me why you're doing that?"

"It's just a rush, y'know. I mean, you go on and on about how you hate Marco, but you love him," Ellie starts to ramble. "You should've told him this sooner. No, it actually makes perfect sense. You're acting the way you are because you love Marco, but can't seem to find a way of going about and telling him."

"Since when have you become the psychiatrist?"

Ellie holds up a hand to shush me. "You've already slept with each other—er, made love— and you're insecure about that, aren't you? Obviously it must've just happened, you two never exchanged 'I love you's' so you must think that Marco doesn't feel that way toward you. You're afraid that if you tell Marco that you love him he'll run away, that he won't say that he loves someone who's…dying. You're scared that he'll leave you—"

"Sorry to interrupt your little epiphany here, but Marco and I aren't together anymore," I state.

"Ah, but technically you two never split up."

I shake my head. "We aren't together, Ellie."

"You might as well be. I don't think you two could live without each other," she grumbles, but soon returns her voice to normal. "Give it another shot, will you? You know as well as I do that he'll jump on the chance to get you back."

Lowering my head, I stare at my hands. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be with him again…."

"Then why don't you? It's not like Marco's going to treat you like that again, he came out. And don't you go into the fact that you're dying. None of us care; you're alive and kicking to us."

"Gee. Thanks," I reply sarcastically.

Ellie rolls her eyes. "Did I mention as sarcastic as ever?" She smirks at me, her arms crossed.

I throw a pillow at her. "I'll see what I can do, okay? But I can't guarantee anything."

"As long as you try."


	17. Not Worthy To Say

**Chapter Seventeen: Not Worthy to Say**

I stare down at my food, the smell making me feel ill.

"Are you going to talk to him today or not?" Ellie brings me back into reality. "Or do I have to force you?"

"I'll talk to him," I reply bitterly.

"There's no need to bite my head off," Ellie grumbles.

I push my lunch tray forward. "I don't feel well, okay? I'm sorry."

Ashley furrows her eyebrows. "Are you all right?"

Rising to my feet, I nod. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me."

I catch Ellie and Ashley look at each other, but walk away from the table before I can hear another health speech from the two of them.

I don't want to talk to Marco, for some reason I have this feeling at the pit of my stomach…of course, that could be part of the large blanket of pain that's engulfing me.

Heading across the cafeteria I stare in the direction of the table Marco usually sits. Sure enough a few seconds later I see Marco and his friends laughing about something; when I get even closer to the table I think I hear my name. I soon get to where I need to be and stop behind Marco, a few peoples' faces going pale.

"The guy's such a fucking bore. Cyril could put an insomniac to sleep within five minutes. And let me tell you, the guy may be awful tall, but he's not very well-endowed if you know what I mean—" Marco stops suddenly when no one else joins in the festivities. Looking behind him Marco sees me and turns white.

"I need to talk to you," I say coldly.

"There's nothing to talk about, Cyril," Marco snaps when we walk outside to the front of the school. He crosses his arms, angry that's he's missing a lunch period. "You've already shot me down again, what else is there to say?"

I look down at him, feeling like a caterpillar. "I'm still a human being. I may be ill, but I still have all these feelings and thoughts which right about now I wish I didn't have. Death is walking up my driveway and the least you could do is listen to me. And you must be blind because I'm _every inch_ a man."

Marco lowers his head. "What is it?"

"You have issues, I understand that, but you don't need to treat me like shit because of it. Don't tell me that you like me and then turn around to degrade me in front of everyone. Don't tell me that you like me and walk away when I need you the most. Don't make snide comments about me behind my back. Don't—"

"I told you why I had to do all of that. I came out, do you know how hard that was for me?" he interrupts.

"Of course I know how hard that was for you, I've done it countless times myself! I've had foster parents boot me out the door the second I told them that I was gay, so don't act like I don't have any clue about how you feel."

I start to feel like I'm being drained of everything, my brain swimming in its liquid.

"You think that losing a few friends is bad? Try living in a home for years, before finally thinking that I actually belong. Stop thinking that your life is the pits, that because you didn't ace a test you're never going to be a doctor or some other profession like that and because of that your life is over. Take a look at me! I'm never going to be around long enough to make something of myself! Don't cry because you didn't get the birthday gift you wanted because I'll be dead before I get to celebrate another one of mine!"

Marco takes a shaky breath. "It's just hard. I'm scared."

"So you have to talk shit about me?" I scoff. "You don't know what hard is. You don't know what it's like being scared. Try being in pain for every waking second, knowing that there's no known cure for the disease you have. Try not having any idea whether or not today is your last day, whether the 'good-bye's' you say to your friends are your final farewell's."

I'm horribly warm, probably sweating like a pig, and my vision is hazy.

Marco looks up into my eyes. "You can't see yourself, Cyril. I'm your boyfriend, I have to see you get sicker and sicker. I can barely bring myself to come to school. I start wigging out; wondering if I'm going to hear the announcement on the TVs that you've died."

I blink, trying to see straight. "You're not my boyfriend, where did you get an idea like that? Oh, right, Ellie went all technical on your ass?"

I being to walk away, my body swimming through the void space all around me; struggling to stay afloat.

Vision suddenly black, I feel my body collide with the ground.

I'm met with unconsciousness.


	18. Giving In To The Nothing

**Chapter Eighteen: Giving in the the Nothing**

I open my eyes slowly, trying to remember what happened and where I am.

When my eyes adjust, I look around...

I'm in a hospital.

Dana's sitting by my bed, nearly breaking my hand as she holds it.

There's a large..._thing_ on my lower torso, making it very uncomfortable for me to lay in this bed.

My head throbs as I reach up with my free hand to remove the oxygen mask, which is a little too tight. My throat is dry when I try to talk.

"What happened?" I ask, but I doubt that Dana can hear my voice.

She looks at me, almost unsure if I'm the one who just spoke, and smiles. "You're awake."

"Really? I had no idea," I joke weakly. "What happened? Why am I in the hospital?"

Dana releases the death grip on my right hand. "You collapsed at school. Everyone's very worried about you. I almost died of worry." Her face falls, as if using the word died was a large mistake.

"What's crushing me?"

"Hmm? Oh!" Dana looks over to whatever it is that's laying on me. "It's Marco, dear. He's been here all night." She casts a small smile at me. "Poor thing was a nervous wreak. I almost had to give him a few sleeping pills in order for him to get some rest."

I blink. "So you let him lay on me?" I try to sit up, in an effort to see Marco, but I'm too weak. "How bad am I?" I don't think there's much of a point in asking. If I look and am as bad as I feel, Death must be so close to me It's breathing down my neck. Needs a few mints if you ask me.

Dana frowns and replaces my oxygen mask. "Try to go back to sleep, okay? Is it all right if I go home and shower? I'll be as quick as I can."

"Take your time," I say, but nod in case my voice was softened even more by the plastic around my mouth and nose.

Dana's bloodshot eyes crinkle slightly as she smiles. "I'm so glad you're awake. I promise I won't be gone too long." She kisses my forehead and stands up. She walks around my bed and starts for the door.

I watch Dana as she heads for the hospital room door, her head down slightly and her gnome-like frame quivering.

I remove my oxygen mask again.

"D... Mom?"

I don't know why I just said that, it just kind of came out... it felt good though; finally being able to call a woman Mom and even if she doesn't like it, I said it. I thought I forgot how to say that word, Mom, I haven't said it in so long. It feels all kinds of right, calling Dana Mom.

Stopping abruptly, Dana slowly turns around. Fresh tears slide down her cheeks as she says. "Y-yes, honey?"

"Could you shift Marco for me? I think I've lost the circulation in my legs."

Dana laughs softly and walks over to the bed. She carefully moves Marco back, so that he's leaning back in the chair he was falling out of, and then kisses the top of his head. Dana walks up to me and, after yet again replacing the oxygen mask, plants a kiss on my forehead.

Five minutes later I'm staring at the sleeping body that is Marco.

He doesn't look like he used to when he slept, now he looks like he's seen a million kilometers of bad road. His face looks drawn and sick, worry is plastered to his features, and his eyes are shut tight.

Marco groans softly. He must be having a daymare.

His body seems weaker than mine and thin, his usually perfect hair disheveled, and arms hanging limply, missing the arm rests.

Somewhere along the line I have a small coughing fit, bad enough to make my throat even rawer than it was before. My entire body shook and the spell seemed to have taken most of the energy I had left in my body.

So this is what it feels like to die?

The cold blanket wrapping around you more and more, the loud yet subtle aching of your organs shutting down.

So this is what it feels like to die.

* * *

I'm looking up at the ceiling when I hear Marco shift in his chair and yawn. I turn my head to look at him. I must really not look that good, for Marco's eyes dull.

"How long have you been awake?"

I shrug.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asks, sounding as if he doesn't know whether or not he should be talking.

"Horrible," I say flatly.

Marco leans closer to me and pulls the mask down to my neck. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah... How is everyone?" I ask.

"Worried I suppose. They all went home last night, but they left cards and things," Marco explains, motioning to the night stand beside my bed. Colorful envelopes and small knickknacks cover it, choking it within a meter of its little life. "Dana and I didn't know whether or not you wanted to open the cards so we just left them."

I move my eyes back to Marco. "Thanks."

"I'm really sorry about what happened. I'm sorry about everything."

"I know you are, there's no need to be sorry."

Marco frowns. "I got you worked up..."

"So? This was bound to happen sooner or later. It's not your fault, Marco."

"Still, I—"

I sigh softly. "Why are you apologizing? I'm the one treating you like crap. I can't even apologize myself."

Marco shakes his head. "I never should have ignored you like I did and—"

"I'm sorry," I say, putting emphasis on the word I'm.

We stay in silence after that, Marco looking at me while I'm looking past him at nothing in particular. After what seems like hours I move my gaze to the ceiling and heave a deep sigh.

"I'm so tired of being ill," I blurt out, my voice shaking a bit.

"What?" Marco asks, caught off guard.

"I finally get a foster parent who really cares about me, I finally make friends, I finally meet someone like—and it's all going to be taken away from me." I continue on, not really talking to Marco: "It's not fair. I've been ill for so long and deprived of so many things and when I do finally get happiness it's going to leave. Sometimes I wish that I could just get this over with, that one day I won't wake up and that'll be it... but I'm scared."

My voice cracks and I shut my eyes, a warm tear making its way down my cheek.

"I don't want to die, not like this. I used to think that I'd meet my end by being shot while saving children in Africa, of old age, or quick and painlessly...not from AIDS. It's so hard to do this, so bloody hard..."

I feel Marco take my hand in his. "I know it must be, but you've still got a few good years, don't you? You can still—"

"I don't, Marco. I've stopped taking my medication. I may not have 'a few good years.'" I blink back more tears, some streaking down my face.

"You what?"

I laugh dryly. "I stopped taking my medication a long time ago. I'm not going to live much longer, I can feel it. God, Marco, I can _feel_ it."

Marco goes quiet again. What his facial expression looks like I don't know.

"I never really found a point in taking them, why prolong something that's going to happen no matter what? I used to think and now look at me. I'm terrified, Marco. I don't want to die. Not like this, anything but this. My mother abandoned me as a child because I had HIV, that's the real reason. That's how I really got it, Marco. I couldn't tell you or anyone because then you'd know my own mother hated me enough to leave me on the steps of a church she never set foot inside. I came from nothing, Marco. No one ever loved me, but I finally have that now. I have a mother who really loves me and not some junkie who only stopped sticking needles in her veins to carry me to term and give me this bloody disease—the only thing my birth mother every gave me. I have something now and I'm going to lose it all. I don't want it taken away from me, Marco. What kind of God does that? He gives a boy who had nothing everything and then changes His mind."

Still, Marco says nothing.

I sigh again. "I'm sorry for everything I've ever done to you, Marco." I hear a soft sniffle as a reply and I then lapse into the silence of the room except for the noise of the machines I'm hooked up to.

* * *

"I called my parents and I have to go home, okay? Dana came back an hour ago," Marco's voice invades my cloudy mind.

I open my eyes and turn my head, noticing that that damned oxygen mask has been put back where it belongs. I nod slightly and watch Marco turn his back and walk to the door. Walking out of the room, he turns left. As quickly as I can (which isn't that quick) I take off my mask. "Marco?"

He appears in the doorway a few seconds later. "What's wrong?"

"I love you," I say, surprised and wanting to know how I said it.

Marco turns around and begins to walk out of the door, but stops and turns his head to look back at me. "I love you too, Cyril." From across the room I can see his eyes light up and twinkle.

I smile at him, a huge weight lifting off my shoulders. Dana's hand, at some point in my sleep wrapping itself in mine, squeezes mine.

"I'll visit you tomorrow," Marco says, returning a smile before he leaves.

Looking back up at the ceiling I watch the ceiling tiles blur before I close my eyes.

* * *

I don't know how long I've been here now. The nurses have told me what day it is of what week of what month, but I forget it all. It might have been two weeks, maybe more or maybe less.

The first day I was here I could sense creeping Death standing just outside of my door, fingers brushing against the wood, waiting for me to open the door. I had thrown my body against that door, praying that it would never open, but the longer I'm here to more the door is opening. I can feel my body decaying more and more each day. I'm more frightened than I ever was before.

"I want you to promise me something," I say softly. I had planned what I was going to say for a long time now. I only hoped the words would could out right.

"Sure. What is it?" Marco asks. He's sitting in the chair to my left, reading me an article from the most recent Rolling Stone. I had never been paying attention to it, just wanted to hear Marco's voice, so I don't feel bad interrupting him.

I pause, going over the sentences in my head before I actually say them. I turn my head to look Marco in the eyes. "This is really important to me." He had set the magazine down, meeting my gaze like if he didn't the last string to my life would break. "So I want you to promise me that...that you won't forget me."

"Why would I ever forget about you?" He looks at me like my brain had turned to jell-o, like I had gone insane.

Answering that question was in my booklet because I knew he was going to ask that, but I skipped that part. The door was splintering. "I want you to get married, committed, however you'd like to put it, and adopt hundreds of kids...but I want you to promise me that you won't forget about me." That was the most selfish thing in the world to ask for, but I don't want to go forgotten. Apart from the death trying to get to me that is the biggest fear of mine.

"I'll never forget about you, Cyril," Marco promises. He leans forward and takes my hand, weaving his fingers with mine. He lays his head down on my chest, turned so that we're still looking at each other.

I watch him as his eyelids grow heavy and eventually he can't keep them open anymore. I smile and watch him sleep, just holding his hand and praying to God that I forgive Him for what He had to put me through. He brought me into this world the ill bastard son of a junkie, He had given me HIV but had spared me a heroin addiction, He made me live all those years in an orphanage and in homes that never fully cared about me. But He had given me Dana, the mother I was always meant to have, and He had given me Marco.

I'm dying, I feel it. I feel the wood splinters being driven into my flesh and I can feel the heat radiating from Death. I can smell the toxic stink of Death's breath, I can hear his deep, scratchy throat tell me that it's time to go. I'm dying so young and I'm angry for that, absolutely terrified, but I can deal with that. God kept me alive long enough to meet Marco and I'll be the first in line to hug Him for doing that for me.

Just give me a few more minutes. I might be impatient, but I need to say some sort of good-bye.

I'm not wearing my rings and I'm glad for that. I don't want to try getting one off using only my thumb because my other hand is otherwise engaged. They're resting on my night stand because I want them there. I don't want to have to search around for them when I knew this moment was going to be happening soon.

With my left arm I reach out toward the table. It's hard because I'm so weak, but with my arm being as long as it is eventually I'm able to grab one of my Death's Head rings. It's ironic, but as good a gift as any.

I put the ring in Marco's free hand and close his fingers around it. I kiss the top of his head. I'd be bawling now, but I'm just too weak to cry. Besides, if I was weeping I'd never be able to whisper understandingly: "I love you more than you'll ever know."

I doubt Marco heard me, but maybe he did. I needed to say it and I did. Whether or not he heard me at least I said it.

I lean back into the pillows and stare at Marco again, the man I love with everything my fading soul has in it. I'd die for him and guess what? I am. How many angels can say that they actually died for the one they loved?

So come on, Death, come and get me. I've back away from the door now, but all I ask of you is to not take my Marco for a while. Give him a few years to make some other man happy. Give him a chance to become something.

And, God, don't ever let him not feel the love I have for him. Don't ever let him feel like I'm not there because I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that I am there, that I haven't really left him.

Just in body I'm leaving him, but never in spirit. Never in spirit. _Never in spirit…_.

_**Curtain.**_


End file.
